


adulthood is looking both ways before you cross the street and getting hit by an airplane

by starkslovemail



Series: earth-207, the stark-rhodes timeline [6]
Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Autism, Autistic Harley Keener, Established Relationship, First Meetings, Gen, He's Not Getting One Though, Hurt Peter Parker, M/M, Peter Parker Has SPD, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Post-Battle of Sokovia, Pre-Civil War (Marvel), Sensory Processing Disorder, also, because
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27020410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkslovemail/pseuds/starkslovemail
Summary: It was a perfect plan, if Peter did say so himself.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark
Series: earth-207, the stark-rhodes timeline [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558591
Comments: 21
Kudos: 96





	adulthood is looking both ways before you cross the street and getting hit by an airplane

**Author's Note:**

> meet 207!peter parker, he's nineteen, a libra, and having a very rough week 🗿
> 
> this is set in october 2015, so rhodey and tony have been married for about two and half years this point. harley is twelve, almost thirteen, and has been with them for roughly the same amount of time. the taking-in-harley story is being written but it's not cooperating atm so i wrote this instead 🤧
> 
> rhodey is in a wheelchair before cw bc i said so 🗿
> 
> okie bye enjoy the story 💛💫

Peter Parker was so _very_ screwed.

He’d woken up in a room he didn’t recognize. The lights were dimmed, and his head was throbbing too much for his eyes to adjust.

Honestly, if the lights had been up, Peter was pretty sure he’d be spiraling towards a sensory overload, so it was actually pretty nice of his captors to keep the lights low enough for his brain to function.

But on the other hand, his mask was _gone_ , so he wasn’t about to be thanking them anytime soon.

He took a deep breath, trying to reorganize his thoughts.

The last thing Peter remembered was a routine mugging that had gone wrong.

Patrol had started out pretty tame. He’d gotten a cupcake from the bakery on the corner after he’d found Mrs. Miranda’s tabby cat, swung a few kids across the street when some jerk drivers didn’t feel like obeying traffic laws and stop at a school crosswalk, and then he’d helped Mr. Oliver move his upright piano to his truck so he could take it to his niece’s new apartment.

It reminded Peter of his earlier days as Spider-Man, back when _he_ was the weirdest thing on the streets of Manhattan.

And that was a more-than-welcome change of pace to the week he’d been having.

His research proposal had been rejected for funding over the weekend (which was _bullshit_ because who didn’t want to fund clean energy during an _impending climate crisis?),_ and he _might_ have been staying out later than usual to avoid thinking about where he was going to get the money he needed (the Bugle didn’t pay nearly as much for pictures of Spider-Man as they used to).

As a result, he’d been crawling back to his apartment just in time to get an hour or two of sleep before his midterms that week because he had foolishly thought that morning classes would make being Spider-Man easier somehow.

It did not.

Oh, and _tonight_ was also the anniversary of Ben’s death.

Peter wasn’t thinking about that either.

But the universe didn’t care what Peter was or wasn’t thinking about. No, the universe shoved that disastrous cocktail of events down his throat _without_ his consent, leaving his senses decidedly more… _sensitive_ than usual.

He hadn’t quite hit migraine territory yet, so all he really had to do was make it through his exams and then he could skip his classes next week, visit Ben’s grave, and catch up on sleep before his brain imploded on itself due to a problem of his own design.

It was a perfect plan, if Peter did say so himself.

But then, the mugging.

It started off as basic as they come. A guy trying to steal this girl’s bag when she was going to pick up dinner after a night class at ESU. There was a brief struggle, and he had pulled her into an alleyway by the time Peter had arrived on the scene. He’d gotten the bag back easily enough, but then the guy had pulled out a _gun_ because of course, life liked to keep things interesting.

And Peter was both incredibly tired and decidedly _not_ bulletproof.

He’d been embarrassingly slow on the uptake.

Between his lack of sleep and the headache that had crept up on him as he swung through the city, Peter was lucky he’d managed to dodge the first shot.

And honestly, what could possibly be in that girl’s bag that was worth _shooting_ someone for? Fifty dollars, _maybe?_

But it didn’t really matter.

Peter had these powers, and that meant he had a duty to help people. So, like the amazing hero that he was, he disabled Dollar Tree Deadpool without getting a scratch on himself or the girl.

Except for when his skull had knocked up against the brick wall.

And when the jagged pipe he stumbled into ripped his suit and drew blood.

Oh, and when the bullet clipped his shoulder that one time.

… and when the _other_ bullet skimmed his side that _other_ time.

And when all was said and done, Peter was _very_ dizzy, and his head was _throbbing._ He vaguely remembered webbing the guy up and waving off the girl’s concerns, but everything after that was just… blank.

Now, Peter had no idea where he was, and _his mask was gone_.

Feeling around himself carefully, he realized he was on a bed. Pushing himself up with a groan, he looked around and nearly had a heart attack.

There was someone else in the room.

It was only a kid, maybe ten or eleven at best, but Peter still squinted suspiciously. The kid was flipping through a holoscreen so casually that it was perplexing. The tech looked like something out of a Stark Industries commercial, so why a literal grade-schooler was messing around with it, Peter couldn’t puzzle out.

His spider-sense wasn’t telling him to run, but his head was still spinning, so things were _very_ hit or miss at the moment.

As if he could feel Peter’s eyes on him, the boy looked up. The screen flickered away, pale light shrinking down into a watch on his wrist. Blue eyes met brown, and the boy’s lips quirked into a small smile, “Hey.”

“Uh, hi?” Peter blinked owlishly. He frowned, “You’re not like, a prepubescent super villain, are you?”

The boy snorted out a laugh, grinning impishly as he shook his head, “No.”

Peter let out a sigh he didn’t realize he had been holding in, slumping back against the bed in relief, “Okay, cool. It would really suck if you were.” Maybe he _wasn’t_ screwed beyond belief. His head cocked to the side curiously, “Who are you?”

“Harley Joseph Keener, _what_ are you doing in there?”

Peter had heard the voice before, but he couldn’t place it. The boy across him obviously could, judging by the way his eyes went wide and the smile dropped from his face.

“I’m Harley.” He looked past Peter’s bed, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he raised his voice, “And all I’m _doing_ is keeping Pete company!” His eyes flickered back to Peter, a smile teasing at his lips, “Do you go by Pete or Peter?”

So not only was his mask gone, whoever this Harley kid was knew who _he_ was… fantastic.

“How about _you_ go to _bed?”_ And Peter recognized _that_ voice because it was almost impossible not to.

Peter jerked to look at the doorway Harley was staring out of, ignoring the pain that shot through his body, “Is that _Tony Stark?”_

“In the flesh,” the man himself walked into the room, looking considerably more normal than Peter had ever seen him in the media in cozy sweats and a worn MIT crewneck. His hair was gently mused, like he’d been sleeping. A golden retriever calmly trotted in by his side, deep gold coat looking like a lion’s mane.

Stark let out a quiet yawn as he came around Peter’s bed, stopping at the foot and fixing him with a stare, “I wouldn’t stress those injuries if I were you, Webhead, you were pretty banged up when we brought you in.”

Right. Peter had probably been picked up from the alleyway, “About that—”

“And _you,”_ a second man rolled in after, and wow, okay, the first voice belonged to Colonel James Rhodes, which meant Peter had somehow found his way into the ever-elusive Stark-Rhodes household.

Neat.

The colonel was also dressed down in Air Force sweats and looked like he’d just rolled (pun intended) out of bed. A second dog was walking in time with his chair, this one a great pyrenees. It was younger than the golden retriever, not old enough to be completely trained but still bonded with its handler enough to wake up when he had.

Peter felt the slightest twinge of guilt at the fact that he was obviously keeping the two men up, but Colonel Rhodes barely even paid Peter a glance as he fixed Harley with what Peter could only call a Dad Stare™, “Don’t think you’re not in trouble for the drones.”

Harley was immediately out of his seat, hands held up in a universal white flag, “Wait a second, if I wasn’t using Tarzan, then Peter would’ve bled out.” When the colonel’s eyes softened at that reminder, Harley quirked a cheeky smile, “Besides, it’s not like I went out there _myself_ , so technically, I didn’t break any major rules.”

 _Major_ being the operative word in that sentence, if the deadpan stare Stark hit the kid with was anything to go by.

“And Peter here is a pretty good reason why those rules are in place,” Colonel Rhodes turned to look at the teen, arms crossed. “What were you doing out there?”

“What I've _been_ doing for the past _four_ years,” Peter replied with a scoff.

“I’m surprised you lasted that long,” Stark ran his eyes ran over Peter’s injuries purposefully before giving the teen a pointed look, “Harley’s footage made it pretty clear you were in no shape to be out there in the first place.”

“Didn’t you give your address to a _terrorist_ three years ago?” Peter asked incredulously. He distinctly remembered a Malibu mansion being bombed to kingdom come. “I don’t think you’re the right person to be questioning my decision-making skills.”

“And me?” Colonel Rhodes raised a brow. “You’re inside my home right now, so it’s safe to assume I don’t have the same self-destructive tendencies as my husband.”

And they were only having this conversation because Peter had let the most discount version of Deadpool get a few shots in.

Time to change tactics.

“…Like I said, I’ve been doing this for _four_ _years,”_ Peter said, knowing all too well how dumb that sounded when he was laying injured in bed. “I get that you don’t want to set a bad example for your… Harley, but believe it or not, I’m an adult.”

“You literally turned nineteen last week,” Stark replied dryly.

 _“I’m an adult,”_ Peter repeated, flushing lightly. Headache aside, his brain was _reeling._ Did they ID him before or after he’d been picked up in the alley? How long had Harley been following him on his patrols without him noticing?

“An adult that can’t buy alcohol without a fake ID,” Colonel Rhodes corrected, “who we found bleeding on a rooftop.”

Huh, so he’d made it out of the alleyway.

Good job, Parker.

“I heal fast,” Peter followed up, voice tight. That wasn’t really a response, but his brain was still so screwy he didn’t blame himself. He couldn’t— _wouldn’t—_ let them try to stop him from doing this when he’d already been doing it for so long.

Not on _Ben’s anniversary_ of all nights.

Saving lives wasn’t a game he could just stop playing, it _meant_ something. He wasn’t some _kid_ in over his head. “And I can usually dodge the bullets.”

“Usually,” Colonel Rhodes repeated in a deadpan, completely unimpressed.

“It’s been a rough week,” Peter shrugged, wincing slightly at the movement.

Stark stared at him silently, evaluating him with a quirk of the head before he met eyes with Colonel Rhodes. The two shared a look Peter couldn’t read, and then the colonel’s gaze softened. He turned back to Peter, “Is it safe to assume you want to keep the lights down? Your mask looked like it adjusted for SPD, so we don’t want to trigger anything.”

Peter blinked back owlishly. He didn’t think they’d actually known what they were doing when he’d first woken up, but he’d happily admit to being wrong. That was a kindness he’d never expected to get from anyone who didn’t know him, and he gave them an embarrassed nod, “Uh, yeah, lights aren’t the best idea right now.”

“Do lights hurt your eyes?” Harley asked. He was curled up in his chair, slowly scrambling and unscrambling a puzzle cube, but his eyes were locked on Peter curiously. The teen recognized the stim for what it was and decided to be honest for once.

“Ever since I got my powers,” he confirmed.

For the most part, he’d gotten his senses under control after a few months. Things were still dialed to eleven hundred and fifty-six by default, but he’d figured out a balance that worked for him. No more jumping at things that go bump in the night. His eyes though? They’d never gotten the message to calm the hell down. “I can usually deal with it, but like I said, it’s been a rough week.”

“A lot of sounds hurt my ears,” the boy shared easily, nodding in understanding. He tapped one of his ears, and Peter zeroed in on what looked like a pair of white hearing aids, but they likely worked to cancel noise instead of amplifying it, “It’s why I've got these.”

“Nice,” Peter’s lips quirked into a smile. “I've got glasses back at my place for when I’m not in my mask.” He gave Stark a look, “I’d like that back, by the way.”

When Stark gave him a startled look of concern, Peter stilled, eyeing the man warily, “… What?”

“It’s right next to you,” Colonel Rhodes said slowly, giving him a wary look of his own.

Peter looked down, and oh, would you look at that, his mask was innocently lying on the bedside table. “Huh. Well, thanks for not stealing it.”

There was an awkward silence as Stark and Colonel Rhodes shared a longer look with each other, probably trying to figure out the best way to legally keep him chained to the bed.

It was Harley who broke the silence, looking at Peter with all the curiosity of a child being given a new toy to figure out, “Were you really bitten by a spider?”

“Yep,” Peter nodded. “It was radioactive and everything.”

“That’s so cool,” the kid whispered, glee dancing in his eyes.

“And _dangerous_ ,” Rhodes said. He fixed Harley with a firm stare, “You better not be getting any ideas.”

Harley smiled, eyes wide and innocent, “Never.”

Stark snorted out a laugh, and Rhodes had a small, amused smile on his face as he shook his head in exasperation, the tension in the room fading away.

There was a story there with the three of them, a story that had never made it into the media. The family dynamic was obvious, and it made Peter’s heart ache a bit to see them all so close considering today was the day his family had fallen apart for the second time.

Something flickered in Stark’s face that Peter couldn’t make sense of. The man crossed his arms thoughtfully and nodded to the bed-ridden teen, “Anyone waiting up for you?”

“Started living alone when the semester started,” Peter was pointedly dismissive, pretending with every fiber of his being that he didn’t miss living with May. He shrugged carefully, trying not to aggravate his injuries (he failed miserably), “Got a housing scholarship, so I sprung for a single.”

“Freedom to command your own space and all that,” Stark filled in.

“Yep,” Peter drew the word out, popping the consonant at the end. “Why, you wanna plan a sleepover?” He grinned, “I might be able to fit you in next Wednesday.”

“Given the circumstances,” Stark gave a vague gesture to the bed, “I was actually thinking we could arrange something for tonight.”

“Might wanna think harder.”

“Peter, you’re _injured,”_ Colonel Rhodes reminded him firmly. “We can’t just let you leave, not in good conscience.”

The teen took a moment to imagine the blissful alternate reality where Norman Osborn had found him instead.

“Hey, Bug Boy,” Stark tapped the bed frame to get his attention. “How do we get you to stay without reinforced handcuffs?”

“You giving out grant money?” Peter muttered under his breath.

Stark quirked a brow, an amused glint in his eyes, “You got a proposal?”

Peter took a few seconds to eye the man suspiciously before he let out a sigh.

Why the hell not?

“Standardizing lithium-ion batteries so that thermal runaway isn’t a problem as they take on more power and become more efficient,” he rattled off. “Reactor tech is awesome, but it’s also incredibly impractical for the masses in its current form.” Peter gave Stark a pointed look, “All offense intended, there’s a reason why it’s only powering _your_ buildings.”

Colonel Rhodes wasn’t able to smother his snort in time, and Harley burst into giggles, so Peter considered that a win.

Stark blinked at him, slow and considering, and not nearly as offended as Peter expected him to be. “… Do you have a proof of concept or is it just theoretical?”

“I’ve got nine different methods of construction I could start testing _tomorrow_.”

“Well, I’ve got a homophobic politician to embarrass during a town hall, so we can’t do it then,” Tony said thoughtfully, mentally running through his schedule for the next few days. “Got a thing on Monday at the Baxter Building, but _Tuesday?_ Yeah, Tuesday works.”

Peter narrowed his eyes in incredulous disbelief, “It’s _that_ easy?”

Tony shrugged, “Pepper’s always telling me I need to hire interns.”

“Oh, I don’t want an internship,” Peter said immediately. “I just want the funding.”

“… What?”

“You think I have the _time_ for an internship?” He knew he sounded like an idiot, turning down an internship from _Tony Stark_ of all people _,_ but he really didn’t have the time tack on, what, _twenty_ extra hours a week? That was _mandatory?_ Peter was trying to have a _life_ outside of heroics, thank you _very_ much.

“Well, how am I supposed to fund your research without it being suspicious then, hmm?” Stark scoffed, “Pepper's going to ask me, and I don’t think you want her knowing how we _actually_ met, Spiderman.”

“Just FYI, there’s a hyphen between _spider_ and _man_ , and I know you didn’t use it.”

_“Peter Benjamin Parker.”_

“You know, the whole point of the mask is that no one’s throwing around my government name all willy nilly,” Peter pointed out. “Not all of us are all _I am Iron Man_.”

Stark eyed him, “Are you _sure_ you want that funding?”

He groaned, flopping back into the bed, “Don’t you guys need like, a babysitter or something?”

“… You want to watch Harley in exchange for _grant money.”_ Colonel Rhodes was looking at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Less work than an internship,” Peter argued mulishly. “And since I’m so great at my job, you can just be an eccentric boss and give me lab clearance so I don’t blow up my apartment.”

At the mention of lab activity, Harley’s eyes lit up. “Can I watch?”

Peter grinned, “’Course you can, kid.”

Harley grinned right back, eyes glittering in excitement. He turned to his dads, suddenly innocent and puppy-eyed and definitely trying to manipulate them, “You’re gonna hire him, right?”

Colonel Rhodes wore a _very_ tired expression on his face, “We might’ve considered it if we hadn’t _just_ decided on someone.”

“I don’t like the new guy.”

“You haven’t _met_ the new guy.”

“CHARLIE showed me his file.” Harley’s face wrinkled up in disgust, “He doesn’t like robots _or_ sea turtles.”

“A criminal offense,” Peter nodded sagely.

Stark and Colonel Rhodes shared another, more exasperated, glance, and Peter wondered just how long it took for them to get their telepathy to work so well.

Eventually, Stark sighed, “JARVIS?”

 _“Mister O’Conner was meant to do a trial run during the town hall tomorrow evening,”_ a dismembered voice projected from a speaker Peter couldn’t pinpoint, crisp and distinctly British. _“The invitation was already sent.”_

 _“But he didn’t listen to the voicemail yet, and according to his security feed, he’s asleep!”_ another voice followed up quickly, energetic as a puppy. _“Should I replace it?”_

Colonel Rhodes held up a hand, stopping Harley from saying yes. He looked to Peter, “Highschool GPA?”

“Weighted four-point-five.”

“CPR and first aid?”

“Red Cross certified last summer.”

“Class schedule?”

“Morning classes on Monday through Thursday and a lab on Thursday afternoon.”

Colonel Rhodes nodded, “CHARLIE?”

 _“No drugs or alcohol, he’s clean!”_ the second voice piped up. _“He got the certification for a lifeguard job, and he also knows how to use an AED. He volunteers at FEAST, a homeless shelter run by his aunt, and… oh! He’s dating Johnny Storm, nice!”_

Peter flushed, head jerking up towards the ceiling, “How do you know that?”

 _“You want the job, don’t you?”_ CHARLIE asked back cheekily.

Looking after a kid who’d been smart enough to stealthily follow his patrols _and_ getting to complete his research in a state-of-the-art lab?

Damn it.

He _did_ want the job.

Peter looked back to Stark, the most serious he’d been throughout the entire conversation thus far, “I own whatever I create?”

“Always,” the other man swore. “If your batteries work, I’ll pay you what they’re worth to use as parts. All rights stay with you.”

That settled it then.

Peter offered his hand, giving Stark’s a firm shake, “Call me Peter Poppins.”

**Author's Note:**

> tomorrow is my birthday pls leave me nice comments 🥺 i also have a[tumblr](starkslovemail.tumblr.com) if you wanna stop by and say hello or talk about the series, okay thanks byeeeee ✌🏾😗


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